Thirteen Hours

the same stale world in the
stage’s overbite we’re glued to,
the drugsmell of gloss, the
twitching about this old gazebo
like bugs at a recently broken
lantern I’ve heard stories
concerning this, stories about
marriage proposals and great death
where boxes of fire are sent
to the sea and funeral timbres
like orange hairs are budding from
the kerosene, we are all
in our 15th year of auditions
the sea levels are shrinking and today
is the long-awaited anniversary
of California falling off we are all
falling out together, a chorus
of vestigial organs piping because
there is no use for us